The Political rumour machine has ben telling us for a while senior members of the government were behaving like a bunch of unruly schoolkids.
Following reports that during a recent meeting of Gordon Brown’s cabinet Jack Straw threatened to punch Ed. Balls a story featured by fatsally here in Boggart Blog we sent our invisible reporter Soft Mick to eavesdrop on the latest meeting and tell us what is really going on. This is his report:
The Cabinet Meeting was opened by Gordon Brown who does not have the air of authority needed to be a senior prefect. After roll call he asked the class to calm down and reminded them anyone caught talking when they were not supposed to would get double det.
Tich Blears, the red haired firebrand called out, “shut it you miserable Scots git, you’re not a proper prefect, you only got the job because my friend Blair was expelled for telling porkies.
“Quiet Blears, or you’ll find yourself with a sore backside, I’m not afraid to hand out a thrashing you know,” retorted Brown.
Dirty Darling sniggered and said Blears was well into a bit of S&M, you could tell by the leather gear she liked to wear.
“In your dreams Darling,” said Blears, “I ride round town with a big piston throbbing away between my legs.”She pointed to her Harley Davidson Owners Badge and drew a cheer from the crowd.
“Its a wonder you can sit down, even without Gordon caning your arse,” Darling exclaimed, his bushy eyebrows going up and down like yo-yos.
“I’ll make pervy G-Wiz drivers like Gordon beg for mercy,” Blears crowed, milking her moment.
“Calm down, calm down or you will all be in det.,” barked Gordon, “we have to talk about the banking crisis.”
“Not our problem,” complained Straw – man, “you were the class treasurer who thought economics was all smoke and mirrors.”
The class burst into a chorus of “We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz.”
“It’s serious,” the acting form prefect snapped. “Have you anything to say Darling?”
“Yes sweetheart, I love it when you come over masterful,” Tich Blears purred.
“Dirty Darling,” Brown commanded.
“Ooh I know love, I’m such a slut.” was the riposte from Blears.
“Alistair Darling, you’re the class treasurers now. What are we doing about the credit crunch?” Brown quizzed.
“Its not fair,” Darling opined, “I’ve only been in the job five minutes. If a certain former foreign secretary had stood his ground instead of selling out we would not be saddled with the cost of a war.”
That’s right,” agreed Ed. Balls, “If you’d had cojones we would not be up shit creek.”
“Language, five hundred lines,” stammered Brown, the little authority he had had evaporating.
“Are you calling me a coward?” Straw-man enquired.
“Talk to the hand, the face isn’t listening,” Balls responded.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Are you talking to me, are you talking to me, are YOU talking to ME,” Straw-man challenged, his face reddening.
“You brick it if a Liberal Democrat says boo,” Balls cajoled him.
“Oh yeah, well come and have a go if you think you are hard,” rejoined Straw-man.
“Guys, guys, let’s keep it civilised eh?” appealed Brown in an attempt to regain control of the class.
“Civilised,” interjected Patty Scotland, you people call yourselves civilised after the way you treated us blacks for three hundred years.”
“And how would she know,” Smudger Smith the home affairs monitor remarked, “is she from the Glasgow branch of the Zulus?”
“I’ll have no racism,” Brown announced.
“I’ll tell you what she’s been through,” continued Smudger, “according to the rumours, most of our back benchers and a few of the opposition.”
“ Shagger Clegg too,” someone accused.
“Do me a favour, I have standards,” objected Patty.
“Standards? You’re a slapper,” Hilary Benn averred.
“Oooooohhhhhhh,” the class chorused.
“Shut the fuck up, gay boy;” Patty spat.
“I’m not gay I’ve had more g....”
“You have a girl’s name, how gay is that,” Patty parried.
“Want me do him over,” Straw man queried having finished kicking the crap out of Dirty Darling.
“That’s it,” Brown roared, struggling to be heard above the hubbub, “you’re all in det. for a week.”
“That’s not as much debt as the country is in,” sneered Tosser Milliband.
At that moment the classroom door opened and in larded Fatty Falconer.
“I say you chaps,” puffed Fatty, an old fashioned type of character, “Spiffing news. The tuck shop has just taken deliver of a consignment of donuts flown in from America and thanks to the splendid exchange rate our government engineered they are selling at six for fifty pence. We can have a wizard feast.”
With a cheer the whole class surged toward the exit, knocking Brown to the ground and trampling him as they rushed to trade their donut futures derivatives.